


The Snake

by Ghelik



Series: Life after the Mountain [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Mount Weather, Post-Season/Series 02, people listen and get ideas, this guys are seriously in love, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emori and Murphy hide away un their tent sometimes and that tent has really not been soundprooved</p><p>or 3 Times people got the wrong idea after listening in on the going on inside Emori and Murphy's tent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Snake

" _I swear, if you don’t stop squirming around I am going to stab you in the eye!"_

 _  
_Lincoln stops dead in his tracks hearing the angry trigedasleng command. He looks around, notices he’s standing next to Emori’s tent and keeps walking, wondering what these two are up to now. The pained moan that follows has him walking quicker.

  
He really does not want to know.

 

 

"Well, it fucking hurts!"

  
Monty turns towards the tent, biting his bottom lip. Maybe he should check on Murphy. It’s not like the gathering group had mentioned anybody being hurt on their trip today, but…

  
" _You’re such a baby_ ," comes a strained reply.

  
Monty really should check if they’re okay. In this world they’re living in now even a shallow cut can mean death.

  
"Am not," Murphy’s response would have been more credible if it weren’t for the strained yelp.

  
Monty pushes the flap a little to the side, enough to see a shirtless Murphy on his back and Emori leaning over him.  
  


Monty decides this is none of his business anyway.

 

 

 

Bellamy’s knife jumps to his hand when he hears the muffled groan. He looks around, but there’s nothing there.  
  


He stashes the weapon away with a sigh and is about to keep walking when he hears it again, coming from the tent to his left. He steps closer to the tent flap.

  
"You okay in there?"

  
There’s a muffled “fuck.”  
  


" _I told you, you should keep it down_ ," whispers an angry feminine voice in trigedasleng.

  
"Go float yourself; I’m in pain here," Murphy’s voice is also quiet before saying louder. "Just peachy. Go away!"

  
"You sure?"

  
"Yes, mom!" drawls Murphy, inside the tent Emori snorts.

  
"Okay."

  
Bellamy steps away from the tent. Maybe he should talk to someone… It’s not right that Murphy lets himself be hurt by his girl. Then again… who knows what floats his boat.

 

 

" _I mean it, John, stop moving."_

 __  
He glares at her, jaw working closing his fist against the thin mattress.  
  


"You’re enjoying this," he accuses in English and she can’t help the smile on her face.

  
He looks disgruntled, yet he’s still lying there on his back, his trembling arm straight next to his body.  
  


She kisses the red skin next to his shoulder.

  
" _We’re nearly done."_  
  


He breathes through his nose. Eyes glassy and jaw strained, and Emori frowns.

  
"Do y _ou need a break?"_

 _  
_John swallows. She can see him thinking for a moment. He manages a strained smile.

  
"Na, it’s ok. _I can handle it_." Somehow it’s incredibly endearing how he keeps mixing English and Trigedasleng. Not that she’s ever going to tell him, he’d be insufferably smug.

  
" _Are you sure?"_

 _  
_"Y _es, Mori,"_  his smile is more confident this time, eyes softer.  
  


She takes a deep breath, waits until he nods his head for her to continue.

 

 

Murphy watches her add the last details on his arm. 

 

He likes the little frown on her face and how she purses her lips in concentration. It’s better to think about how the light of their little lamp flickers across her skin than of the pain.

  
He wanted this, he must remind himself. He wanted something beautiful to come from the suffering.

  
Maybe that’s why the grounders do it? By now his body’s littered in silvery and red scars, puckered skin he can’t look at without feeling deep disgust or without remembering how each felt. This… this is different. The kind of pain is different; he’s also not scared shitless. He can bicker with Emori, and they’re going at an extremely slow pace. Also, though she bitches at him for moving too much or for moaning, Emori stops every time the pain gets to him, even when he tells her he can take it.

  
He’s remarkably grateful for that. She’s the first one to do it.  
  


Emori grabs his wrist, gently turning his arm left and right. Inspecting her handiwork, the tip of her tongue poking between her teeth.

  
"W _e’re done,_ " she applies a salve to the reddened skin. "You can look at it now."

  
Of course, it’s not like it’s the first time he sees the design. He’s been checking it up every time. But now that’s finished his heart hammers against his ribs, and he feels absurdly proud of it.

  
The snake winds around his biceps and down to his elbow, body, covered in intricate patterns and the head resting against his shoulder. He wishes he could show this to someone because it’s stunning.

  
He takes Emori in his arms, snuggling against her.

 

 

He spends the whole day thinking of ways of getting people to notice the snake, but he doesn’t want to openly ask for anyone to look at it because that would be caring about their opinions and he doesn’t, he just wants them to admire Emori’s handiwork.

  
Turns out he shouldn’t have bothered at all.  
  


He and Emori go together to the square after getting their food from the long-house – overcooked elk and why hasn’t anybody learned to cook by now? – and sit in their corner like they usually do. The kitchen group has set up a bunch of tables around the square, since eating in the long-house would be too warm, and it won’t be raining anytime soon. It’s Octavia the one who calls them over. She’s sitting with Miller, Monty, Bryan, Lincoln, and Raven, Gina and Bellamy smile at them on their way to the table and point at the two chairs that have been left for them. Emori smiles and plops herself comfortably next to Raven, immediately hiding her deformed hand beneath the table.

  
The snake on his shoulder itches.  
  


"Stop scratching it," whispers Emori, elbowing him in the ribs the sixth time she catches him scratching his shoulder.

  
Octavia frowns looking at his arm, where part of the snake’s body is poking from beneath the short sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing. The younger Blake surges suddenly forward, grabs his wrist rather violently and pulls his arm across the table.  
  


"Easy there," he wheezes, forcing his body to go slack even though all he wants to do is tense and wrestle his arm back.

  
The edge of the table digs into his ribs.  
  


"Octavia what…!"

  
"What is that?" Interrupts Gina when Octavia pushes the sleeve completely out of the way.

  
The group stares at the snake in utter silence for a moment.  
  


"That looks sick," says Miller, awe evident in his voice.  
 

"Where did you get this?" asks Octavia, and Bellamy’s horrified expression at his sister’s apparent interest is hilarious.

  
Murphy pries his hand out of the forceful grasp.  
"Mori did it for me."

  
Lincoln nods his head.  
  


"It’s very nicely done," he says managing to keep his eyes on Emori for the first time since they started living here.

  
She’s beaming. Murphy’s heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest. He feels absurdly proud and happy, heart swelling with the force of it so much he’s lightheaded.

  
This much affection, this much sentiment, and caring is extremely dangerous, reckless. He really should get a grip.

  
He gives her a smacking kiss on the cheek instead.  
Her delighted squeal is enough to make it up for the risk.


End file.
